


On the Sixth Floor, Next to You

by pierrot



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Neighbors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-06 19:33:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12217506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pierrot/pseuds/pierrot
Summary: The first time Jun sees his new neighbour, he doesn't learn his name. The second time, he does.





	On the Sixth Floor, Next to You

A chill pricks at Jun's bare arms and he shivers, elbows squeezing against his sides. He wishes he’d thought to throw on a sweater before stepping outside. It’s that time of year when the temperature drops rapidly with the setting sun. He always gets caught out.  
  
When his fingers start to tremble, he considers returning inside for that sweater. He decides not to bother. His cigarette is already halfway finished, paper burning away every time he sucks the end between his lips, so it won’t be long until he can leave the balcony for the warmth of his apartment. He can tough it out until then.  
  
If someone were to describe Jun as a creature of habit, he would probably deny it and then do something unpredictable just to prove them wrong. But Jun lives alone, so there’s no one around to comment on the routine he’s slipped into over the past few months. Every evening when he arrives home from work, he immediately changes into comfortable clothes and heads out onto his balcony to smoke away some of his exhaustion before he has to plan the night ahead: showering, eating, making a start on the next day’s work. It’s a moment of peace on days that feel too full.  
  
He’s thought about quitting countless times, but there’s nothing quite like the feeling of fresh air on his face and bitter smoke flooding his throat when he needs to focus. It’s Pavlovian: the moment he enters his building, his fingers start to itch with the urge to reach into his jacket pocket for the paperboard box snug inside, and he can’t concentrate on anything until the deed is done.  
  
Maybe he’ll only be able to quit when he finds a good enough distraction from the craving. For now, he lets himself enjoy the moment of guilty pleasure. He braces his arms atop his balcony railing and stares at the city laid out before him as he listens to the familiar hum of street traffic. A siren wails in the distance, and he searches for the source of the noise, but he can see no sign of it. There’s only the familiar view of tall buildings shadowed by greying skies and lights growing sharper in the distance.  
  
Soon enough, the siren fades. All becomes settled once again.  
  
The sound of a door sliding open somewhere to his right reminds Jun that total peace and quiet never truly exists when he lives in such a cramped apartment block and he has neighbours. Except the woman who lives in the apartment on his right only goes out onto her balcony to water her plants, and it’s too late for that. Besides, Jun remembers, she was supposed to move out last week.  
  
His new neighbour must have moved in already.  
  
He holds still while he listens to the sound of slippers scuffling across cement. A soft sniff is like a whisper, too indistinct to provide any clues as to its owner.  
  
Without thinking, he turns his head in the direction of the noise. The barrier separating the two balconies doesn’t stop him from being able to see a man standing in a similar position, hands clutching the railing and shoulders tilted forward as he stares at the street below.  
  
Jun could look away and retreat before he’s caught staring, but he doesn’t. He’s distracted for a moment too long by the appearance of the man’s face in profile: a cute, rounded nose and pouty lips, hair a little mussed and falling over his forehead.  
  
The man tilts his chin and turns his head slowly, gaze drifting idly until it lands on Jun.  
  
Their eyes meet. Jun doesn’t move, fingers still clutching his cigarette before his lips. The cherry glows orange with a flicker of wind and smoke curls around his face, stinging his eyes.  
  
He offers his neighbour a small nod and steps back. The moment is over quick enough for the details of the man’s appearance to become fuzzy by the time Jun’s safely back inside, but he doesn’t forget the man’s eyes or the shape of his mouth.  
  
  
—  
  
  
There are eight apartments on Jun’s floor, all currently occupied, but he only knows a few of the residents by name. The rest are only people he passes in the hallway or the elevator; sometimes they’ll exchange a few words, but mostly everyone keeps to themselves.  
  
Aiba is an exception. He likes to stop by Jun’s apartment to ask if he can borrow something or to invite Jun out for a drink. Most of those drinking sessions involve Aiba regaling Jun with his latest tales of romantic woe, while Jun nods and laughs and rarely shares any stories of his own.  
  
He always turns down Aiba’s offers to set him up.  
  
On Sundays, Aiba knocks on his door with containers of food he brought back from his family home and a handful of DVDs—some originally belonging to Jun, others obtained elsewhere. The DVDs Aiba borrows from Jun come from the collection of Hollywood blockbusters and romantic dramas Jun’s acquired as presents from friends and family over the years. The other DVDs aren’t the type that can be displayed so openly.  
  
“One extra large serving of my dad’s special fried rice,” Aiba says when Jun opens his door, and he thrusts a plastic bag out for Jun to take.  
  
Jun eyes the bag. “Are my DVDs in there too?”  
  
“Yep! Except the Spider-Man one—you don’t mind if I keep that for a few more days, do you? I put something else in there for you in return.”  
  
Jun takes hold of the plastic handles and pulls them apart so he can see inside. He catches a glimpse of long hair cascading over round breasts and perky nipples.  
  
“I think you’ll like that one,” Aiba says with a grin. “It’s really good.”  
  
Jun closes the bag. “Are you coming in?”  
  
“Can’t stay. Got a hot date.”  
  
“Someone new?”  
  
“Nope, still seeing Shihori. You know, I think she might be the one!”  
  
Jun laughs. “You might want to wait more than two weeks before you start saying that.”  
  
“I’m telling you, Jun, I—” Aiba pauses and turns his head. “Oh, hey!” he says to someone who isn’t Jun. “Nice to see you again.”  
  
From where he’s standing, Jun can’t see far enough past the doorway to see who it is Aiba is addressing. He can’t see the mystery person, but he can hear the voice that returns Aiba’s greeting. It’s low and masculine—not a voice Jun recognises.  
  
He takes a step forward.  
  
“Heading out?” asks Aiba.  
  
“I was about to. I heard you talking and I thought I’d say hi.”  
  
By craning his neck, Jun is able to catch a glimpse of the man speaking. He’s not really surprised when the man turns out to be his new neighbour, standing in front of the apartment one over from Jun’s.  
  
“Oh, hey, have you two met?” Aiba asks, looking between them. “Jun, this is Sho—he just moved in. You guys are neighbours!”  
  
Jun raises his eyebrows at Aiba. “I think I could have worked that out.”  
  
His gaze is on Aiba now, but that doesn’t stop him from seeing his neighbour— _Sho_ —move closer to them. Jun turns his head and meets Sho’s eyes.  
  
There’s a definite spark of recognition within them. Sho hasn’t forgotten their previous encounter either.  
  
“It’s nice to meet you,” Sho says, extending a hand toward Jun. “Jun, was it?”  
  
Jun’s eyes drift down Sho’s torso, taking note of the red cable knit of his sweater, the expensive watch on his left wrist, and the blunt nails on his outstretched fingers. He reaches for Sho’s hand and shakes it. Sho’s skin is warm and surprisingly soft.  
  
“Jun,” he confirms.  
  
“Sho,” says Sho. “I moved in last week.”  
  
Jun nods. Their hands stay connected for a moment too long, neither’s grip loosening even after they’ve stopped shaking.  
  
Jun pulls back first, fingers slipping away from Sho’s hold.  
  
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you,” Sho says.  
  
“Not interrupting anything!” Aiba replies. “Actually, I really need to get going. Don’t want to be late!”  
  
“Aiba has a date,” Jun explains.  
  
Sho smiles at Aiba. “I hope it goes well.”  
  
“It will! I’ve planned everything perfectly—she’s going to be so impressed.”  
  
“She won’t be impressed if you don’t meet her in time,” Jun says pointedly.  
  
“Right.” Aiba nods. “I guess I should go. It was nice seeing you again, Sho—we should hang out sometime soon, okay? And Jun, I’ll get that DVD back to you next week, I promise. If there’s anything else you want in the meantime”—his voice drops lower, seemingly in an attempt at a whisper—“you know, like the one I just gave you, let me know. I have plenty more like it in my collection.”  
  
Jun winces slightly, but Aiba is already moving away, waving his farewell to Sho and Jun as he heads down the corridor. He turns the corner and Jun left standing alone with Sho.  
  
Awkwardness sets in. Jun doesn’t know where to look or what to say.  
  
“Well,” Sho says, breaking the silence. “I probably should head off as well. It was nice meeting you, Jun. I hope you enjoy your evening.”  
  
Jun nods. “You too.”  
  
Sho turns away and Jun steps back into the quiet of his empty apartment, letting the door fall shut behind him.  
  
  
—  
  
  
Jun doesn’t see Sho again during the following week. There are no more awkward balcony encounters, though Jun doesn’t break his habit of leaning over the railing of his balcony as he stares at the city. He’s left undisturbed.  
  
  
—  
  
  
Waking up early has never been Jun’s strong point, but getting older means making sacrifices. When he turned thirty, he resolved he would take better care of his health and his body. He’s thirty-three now, and while he can’t say he finds it easy to spring out of bed when his morning alarm sounds, the satisfaction he feels after completing a successful workout makes it all worthwhile.  
  
The gym across the street is Jun’s favourite place to exercise, and the weight machines are his tools of choice. He likes being able to being able to see the results of the many hours he’s spent on lat pull-downs and chest presses. His shirts no longer hang off his lanky frame: they stretch tight over his shoulders and cling to his chest.  
  
He especially likes when others comment on his transformation. “I worry that one day you’ll be too broad to fit through the doorway,” Nino tells him when he stops by Nino’s apartment, but the joke comes with an appraising look that lingers. Nino’s always held a certain fondness for muscular bodies.  
  
Jun sometimes thinks it would be nice if Nino’s fondness extended beyond pure aesthetic appreciation. He’s not really interested in dating Nino—they’re better off as friends, both of them know that—but that doesn’t stop him from thinking about how much easier everything would be if he was. His dating life hasn’t exactly been full of success of late, and loneliness is dangerous.  
  
If he were less lonely, maybe he wouldn’t notice how often his return trips from the gym coincide with Sho leaving for work. If he were less lonely, he’s sure he wouldn’t find himself paying more attention to the clock as he finishes his workout, knowing exactly what time he needs to reach his apartment building in order to run into Sho.  
  
Sho always walks out the door at 7:07, give or take a minute. Jun’s come to appreciate his reliability.  
  
Sometimes, Jun doesn’t cross the street in time, and he sees Sho disappearing down the road on his way to the station. Other times, they pass each other through the entrance to their building; one of them holds the door open for the other, and they offer brief, friendly nods of acknowledgement before moving on. When they’re that close to each other, Jun is able to catch a waft of Sho’s scent over the musk of his own sweat. It’s subtle and fresh, like clean linen and fabric softener.  
  
Jun’s favourite mornings are those when he waits in the foyer for the elevator to arrive, and when it does, Sho emerges from within. There’s always a moment of surprise when their eyes meet—Sho’s eyes widen as he recognises Jun standing before him, and he hesitates just long enough for Jun to revel in the sight of how Sho looks when he’s taken off guard.  
  
There’s never enough indifference in Sho’s expression for Jun to believe he has no effect on Sho. He hasn’t decided what he wants to do with this knowledge. For now, knowing is enough.  
  
Jun’s brief encounters with Sho have become a regular part of his weekday routine, so when he doesn’t see Sho for two mornings in a row, he feels more unsettled than he should. On the second morning, he leaves the gym a few minutes earlier than usual and lingers outside the front of his building, one arm braced against the wall as he stretches his legs.  
  
After ten minutes pass with no sign of Sho, Jun heads back inside. It had been a foolish impulse for him to wait around. There are any number of reasons to explain why Sho didn’t appear. A change to his schedule is none of Jun’s concern.  
  
He wakes the next morning feeling more reluctant than usual to leave the comfort of his bed. He considers hitting the snooze button, but he forces himself to get up. Sho may no longer be following his usual routine, but that’s no reason for Jun to change his.  
  
For the first time in weeks, Jun doesn’t pay attention to the time while he completes his workout. He runs through his usual sets, pushing his body to its limits until the odd sense of frustration coiled in the pit of his stomach starts to dissipate.  
  
He returns home with no expectations, so he’s surprised when he looks up as he’s crossing the street and sees Sho leaving their building.  
  
Without thinking about what he’s doing, Jun cuts a path away from the building’s entrance and follows Sho instead. He catches up quickly, reaching Sho just as he’s about to turn the corner at the end of the street.  
  
Before he can stop himself he takes a final lunge forward and taps Sho on the shoulder.  
  
Sho turns to face him.  
  
“Jun?”  
  
In the instant it takes Sho to recognise Jun, his eyebrows knit together, confusion deepening across his features—or what Jun can see of his features, at least. Sho is wearing a face mask.  
  
“You’re sick?” Jun says.  
  
Sho frowns, bewildered and likely annoyed, and Jun can’t blame him. He can only imagine what Sho is thinking about Jun’s inexplicable appearance before him.  
  
Jun has no idea what he’s doing.  
  
“Is something the matter?” Sho says, voice somewhat muffled by his face mask. “I’m going to miss my train.”  
  
Jun wants to tell Sho he should miss his train. Sho shouldn’t be working, not with the way he looks right now. His eyes are puffy and bloodshot, and his skin looks more sallow than Nino’s does after a weekend binge of video games and chain smoking. In the brief time they’ve stood facing each other, he’s been unable to keep his focus steady on Jun, and Jun doesn’t see how he could possibly survive an entire day of work.  
  
They don’t know each other nearly well enough for Jun to offer such advice. He takes a small step back from Sho and says, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to… I’m sorry.”  
  
He’s not making sense. Sho blinks at him and doesn’t speak.  
  
Jun turns around and leaves before he can worsen the situation further.  
  
  
—  
  
  
On his way home from work, Jun stops by a local supermarket to pick up some groceries for dinner. His weeknight meals tend be simple—when he bothers to cook at all—but he left work early for once, so he has time to make something a bit more elaborate than a quick stir fry or pasta dish. The thought energises him so much that he ends up buying more than he intended.  
  
What he decides to cook is nothing too complicated, just a hearty stew accompanied with rice—the perfect choice for the cooler weather. It’s something he’s cooked many times before, but the difference tonight is the quantity he prepares. He retrieves his largest pot from a cupboard and packs it full of vegetables and meat before leaving everything to simmer.  
  
Normally when Jun cooks such a large quantity, he freezes the leftovers to be reheated on nights when he’s too busy with work to cook. He still portions the extra stew into containers, but he leaves the largest container out on the counter and fills another with rice.  
  
Before he can second-guess his decision, he picks up the containers and leaves his apartment.  
  
It takes Sho a long time to come to the door when Jun knocks. Jun distracts himself as he waits by going over what he plans to say to Sho, not wanting to embarrass himself, but his carefully rehearsed lines disappear the instant Sho opens the door.  
  
The first thing Jun notices is how messy Sho’s hair is. His overgrown bangs hang limply over his forehead, long enough to skim his eyebrows, and there’s a tuft of hair sticking up at the back of his head. Jun’s fingers itch with the need to smooth it down.  
  
Sho needs a haircut.  
  
“Jun?” Sho says, voice thick with sleep, and Jun knows he must have woken Sho up from a nap. Guilt hits him in an instant. It makes him frustratingly tongue-tied.  
  
“What are you doing here?”  
  
“I…”  
  
Sho looks down at the containers in Jun’s hands and the action causes Jun to snap out of his daze, remembering his purpose. He thrusts the containers toward Sho.  
  
“I made too much food,” he says, and the words are what he rehearsed, but his tone isn’t quite right. He surges ahead. “I thought you might like some. It’s important to eat well when you’re sick.”  
  
Sho glances between the containers and Jun’s face, and he doesn’t move to take them. “You didn’t have to go to so much trouble.”  
  
“It’s no trouble. Like I said: I made too much.”  
  
He means to sound casual and unconcerned, an attempt to put Sho at ease about the gesture, but he doesn’t think he’s been as successful as he wanted to be. Sho still looks hesitant.  
  
After a lengthy pause, Sho reaches for the containers. “Thank you,” he says, taking them from Jun. “It was kind of you to think of me. I appreciate it.”  
  
An odd sort of shyness warms Jun’s cheeks. “I hope you like beef stew.”  
  
“Don’t worry, I like everything,” Sho says with a smile that Jun can tell is genuine. “Except coriander,” he amends, wrinkling his nose in distaste.  
  
A smile touches Jun’s lips before he can help it. “I don’t like coriander either. Disgusting, bitter grass.”  
  
Sho laughs. “I’m glad you feel the same way. Nothing worse than good food being ruined.”  
  
Jun nods. He’s accomplished what he set out to do, so he starts to turn away.  
  
“Wait,” Sho says.  
  
Jun pauses.  
  
“I’m going away next week on a work trip. I’ll be out of town for a few days.”  
  
Jun stares at him, confused. “Are you wanting me to take care of something for you while you’re gone?” he asks.  
  
Sho shakes his head. “No, nothing like that. Just, you know… you don’t have to worry if you don’t see me in the mornings. I should be back on Thursday if all goes well.”  
  
The thought of Sho being aware that Jun anticipates their morning encounters makes him flush with embarrassment. “I wouldn’t worry,” he says, refusing to lose his composure.  
  
“Oh.” Sho’s face falls slightly. “Well… okay. I just thought I’d let you know.”  
  
Jun doesn’t know what else to say. “Feel better soon,” is all he manages before he turns away, not looking back as he returns to his apartment.  
  
  
—  
  
  
On weekends, Jun likes to sleep in. It’s a luxury he’s not always afforded, not when he has events to coordinate, but his work has been relatively quiet of late. He knows this period is the calm before the storm; soon he’ll be swamped with preparations for various end of year events. Until then, he intends to make the most of his precious free time.  
  
When he manages to open his eyes on Saturday morning, the sun is bright behind his bedroom curtains. It makes him want to skip the gym and go for a run instead, despite knowing how cold it will be outside. He likes getting a taste of fresh air on sunny weekend mornings,  
  
Though it will hardly still be morning by the time he’s outside, he notes as he checks his phone. He’ll have to move a bit faster if he wants to make it back in time to get ready for his lunch plans with Shun.  
  
He sends a quick message to Shun before hauling himself out of bed, feeling his stomach lurch with the sudden movement. Drinking so late last night had been a mistake; he shouldn’t have ordered that last glass of wine.  
  
The mild queasy feeling in his stomach is nothing he can’t withstand, but his sluggishness is harder to overcome. He’s not concentrating when he leaves his apartment, and he almost trips over an unexpected obstacle waiting for him at his front door.  
  
He looks down at the ground and sees a familiar pair of plastic containers—his containers. Just beyond them is a folded piece of paper, unmarked on the side he can see. It must have gone flying when he kicked the containers into disarray.  
  
He bends down and picks up the folded paper.  
  


 

> _Jun,_
> 
> _I apologise for not returning your containers to you in person. I had to head into the office early this morning, and I wasn’t sure I would manage to see you before I leave tomorrow evening._
> 
> _Thank you for the food. It was delicious._
> 
> _Sincerely,_
> 
> _Your neighbour, Sakurai Sho_

  
  
  
Sho’s formality is somehow both unsurprising and strangely endearing. Jun finds himself smiling as he reads the note for a second time, imprinting the lines of Sho’s handwriting to memory. He retrieves the containers from the floor and takes them inside, leaving them on his kitchen counter.  
  
Sho’s note gets tucked away inside a cabinet drawer, where Jun knows it will be safe from being misplaced.  
  
  
—  
  
  
Thursday comes and goes with no sign of Sho. Jun reminds himself that Sho’s intended date of return had never been definite, and even if it was, he didn’t say he would actually see Jun on Thursday. He could very well have arrived back later in the day or gone straight to his office.  
  
Jun forgets to remind himself that he has no good reason to be waiting for Sho as though they’re anything more than neighbours who have had a grand total of two conversations with each other.  
  
On Friday, he finishes his workout a little later than usual. He thinks it’s better to know there’s no chance of seeing Sho so he won’t end up disappointed. He can see Sho next week.  
  
That’s what Jun thinks, but when he leaves the gym, Sho is standing outside the front of their building. He’s wearing a suit and looking at his phone and he doesn’t appear to be in any hurry to move. Jun slows his footsteps as he approaches him, not daring to hope that the reason why Sho is still standing there is because he’s waiting for Jun.  
  
When he’s only a couple of metres away, Sho glances up from his phone, catches Jun’s eyes, and he smiles.  
  
Jun stops.  
  
“Hey,” Sho says as he tucks his phone away into his pocket. “I was hoping to run into you.”  
  
The smile on his face doesn’t falter, even when Jun fails to return it with one of his own. “You were?” Jun says, too surprised to come up with a more intelligent response.  
  
“Yeah. I wanted to make sure you got your containers back. Sorry for leaving them lying out in the corridor like that—I didn’t want to wake you so early and I wasn’t sure what else to do with them.”  
  
“It’s fine. I got them.”  
  
Sho nods. “I’m glad.”  
  
Jun expects Sho to leave them, but he doesn’t. He stays where he is, still looking at Jun with a warm smile on his face, cheeks slightly flushed from the cold. Jun wonders how long he stood outside waiting.  
  
“Are you heading off to work now?” Jun asks, unable to think of what else to say to break the silence.  
  
“In a second,” Sho replies. “I just thought I should tell you in person how much I enjoyed the meal you gave me. It was delicious, really.”  
  
Jun flushes. “It was nothing.”  
  
“It was. I’m sure I haven’t eaten so well in a long time.” Sho’s smile turns a little sheepish. “I wish I could offer to repay the favour, but I’ve been told my cooking isn’t very good. You’d probably prefer not to have to try it.”  
  
He laughs, and it’s the first time Jun’s heard him do that. He likes the way it sounds.  
  
“Anyway,” Sho says, voice still warm from his laughter, “I guess I should get going. Sorry for taking up so much of your time.”  
  
“You didn’t,” Jun replies. “But in future, you can always just stop by my apartment if you want something. We are neighbours, after all.”  
  
Sho nods. “Right. I’ll keep that in mind.”  
  
He flashes Jun a final smile before moving past him. Jun finds himself thinking about that smile for the rest of the day.  
  
  
—  
  
  
The key to a perfect ragu is to leave it cooking in the oven at a low temperature for hours until the meat is delectably tender and rich. Jun knows greater patience will reap greater rewards, but that’s easier said than done when he has to contend with the deepening aromas wafting from his kitchen and the stirrings of hunger pains in his stomach. He pours himself his second glass of wine for the evening and checks the pot in the oven. Another half an hour should be enough.  
  
He busies himself while he waits by searching his fridge for ingredients he can use in a salad. There’s not a lot to be found, but lettuce and tomatoes are better than nothing so he pulls them out and sets them on the counter with a chopping board.  
  
Just as he picks up a knife, he’s interrupted by the sound of his intercom buzzing. It gives him pause; he’s not expecting any visitors.  
  
Maybe Aiba forgot his keys again. Jun will have to scold him for being so forgetful.  
  
He’s expecting to hear Aiba’s voice when he answers the intercom, a hint of exasperation colouring his greeting, but it’s not Aiba’s voice that sounds through the speakers.  
  
It’s Sho’s.  
  
“Hello, Jun?” Sho says, and then needlessly adds, “It’s Sho. Sakurai Sho, your neighbour. I’m sorry to disturb you.”  
  
There’s a pause, and Jun is forced to fill the silence. “Yes?” he says, prompting Sho to continue.  
  
“Um, it seems as though I’ve left my keys inside my apartment. Can I trouble you to let me up?”  
  
Jun’s been through this routine with Aiba before. Their apartment complex isn’t particularly fancy, but the security is good: an electronic key is needed both for entering the building and using the elevator. Without Jun’s assistance, Sho will be left stranded downstairs.  
  
“Sure,” Jun says as he presses the necessary buttons on his intercom to let Sho in. He hears the buzz of the door unlocking and Sho’s emphatic words of gratitude and then silence.  
  
For a moment, he stays still. In his mind he tracks Sho’s journey: into the building and then the elevator, slowly ascending the six floors to their level. Jun moves across the genkan, two short strides, and opens the door. He keeps the door propped open against his hip as he stands in the doorway and waits for Sho to appear at the other end of the hallway.  
  
Sho flushes when he looks up and catches sight of him, an embarrassed smile gracing his lips. “Sorry,” he calls across the hallway as he approaches, steps quickening. “I don’t know where my head was this morning. I must’ve rushed out without checking I had my keys.”  
  
“It’s no problem,” Jun replies with a shrug. “Happens to Aiba all the time.”  
  
Sho has to pass by Jun’s apartment to get to his own, and Jun lingers in his doorway, eyes following Sho’s movement. He hasn’t seen Sho outside of their regular morning encounters in over a month. December was a frantic time for Jun, and the days have flown by in a whirlwind of meetings and events filled with too many complications. Today has been his first real break in a long time.  
  
Looking at Sho now and seeing the deep bags under his eyes and the untidy creases in his shirt, Jun can assume he’s been just as busy. It’s no wonder Sho was frazzled enough to forget his keys. Jun thinks he looks as though he could topple over at any moment.  
  
“Do you have your door key or are you locked out?” he asks Sho once he reaches his door.  
  
Sho pauses, glancing back at Jun. “Uh, I was kind of hoping I left it unlocked,” he says, wrapping his hand around the doorknob.  
  
He tries twisting it. The door doesn’t budge.  
  
Sho frowns and tries again, but he has no luck. He drops his hand and lets out a frustrated sigh as he starts rummaging through his pockets. “Maybe they’re in here somewhere,” he mumbles, as much to himself as to Jun.  
  
Jun doesn’t expect him to find his keys. He can’t imagine that Sho would have bothered him without checking everywhere thoroughly first.  
  
“Do you need to call the building manager?” he asks Sho.  
  
“No,” Sho replies absently, still frowning at the locked door. “My sister has my spare… I can call her. Or maybe I should just go to her place now, it’s not too far…”  
  
“Sho.”  
  
Sho looks up.  
  
“Why don’t you call your sister? You can come over to mine while you wait for her—I’ve just been cooking dinner and I’ve made more than enough to share.”  
  
Sho stills. “You’re inviting me for dinner?”  
  
“Unless you’d rather wait out here?”  
  
“I… no, I don’t want to intrude,” Sho says, and it’s not nearly enough of a refusal to deter Jun now that his mind is made up.  
  
“Not intruding,” Jun says. “Come on.”  
  
Hesitation holds Sho in place and Jun rolls his eyes. “Come on,” he says again. “I’m not going to let you hang around in the hallway like this. Don’t be stupid.”  
  
A small smile crosses Sho’s lips and he nods. “Thank you,” he says. “I’m sorry for inconveniencing you.”  
  
“You’ll only be inconveniencing me if you make me stand out here any longer. I don’t want to ruin my sauce.”  
  
Sho nods again and finally moves, leaving his locked apartment behind. Jun steps back once he’s close, holding the door open to let him inside.  
  
  
—  
  
  
“So good,” Sho exclaims in between shovelling generous forkfuls of spaghetti into his mouth, not appearing to care if he makes a spectacle of himself as he eats. Jun likes that he doesn’t care. Food seems to have a magical effect on Sho, stripping away any lingering nervous tension. He shows his appreciation openly on his face, eyes squeezing shut and head tilting back as he makes small, enthusiastic noises that distract Jun from his own meal.  
  
“It’s just pasta,” Jun says gruffly, looking away from Sho.  
  
“ _Amazing_ pasta. You’re an amazing cook.”  
  
Jun shrugs, cheeks growing frustratingly warm. He knows Sho is looking at him now and he knows he’s struggling to maintain control of his face, mouth twitching with embarrassment.  
  
“How long did you say your sister will be?” he asks, changing the subject.  
  
Jun hears Sho hum his uncertainty and he looks up to see him pulling his phone out from his pocket. “Uh… at least another half an hour I think?” Sho flashes Jun a guilty smile. “I’m sorry, I told her to wait until after she had dinner with her husband. I felt bad enough asking her to come over here.”  
  
“Does she live far?”  
  
“Only ten minutes by taxi.”  
  
Jun nods. “Well, it’s not like you’re keeping me from anything but housework and TV. I had a pretty boring day planned today.”  
  
“No work?”  
  
“Nothing urgent.”  
  
“What do you do? I never asked.”  
  
“I work in fashion. Event planning. Mostly fashion shows, product launches, store openings… that kind of thing.”  
  
“Ah,” Sho says with an understanding nod as he looks around Jun’s apartment. “I guess that explains…”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Jun wishes, not for the first time, that he’d put more effort into tidying his apartment earlier. There are boxes and bags of products he’s accumulated over the past couple of months in piles against one wall—he never has enough storage space for the amount he hoards—and his coffee table is barely visible under a mess of folders he uses for work. At some point last year, he bought a cheap clothes rack for the overflow from his closet, and now it has a permanent spot next to his bookcase. It’s never without at least a few garment bags.  
  
“And what about you?” asks Jun, eager to distract Sho from scrutinising his apartment any further. “What do you do?”  
  
“I’m a financial analyst,” Sho says, and he laughs. “Pretty boring, huh?”  
  
Jun shrugs. “I wouldn’t know.”  
  
“It’s not too bad. I’m used to the work and I’m good at it. I assume so, at least—they haven’t fired me yet.”  
  
“You certainly seem to work long hours.”  
  
“I need to if I’m going to be able to afford my own place soon.”  
  
“Ah.”  
  
It makes sense that Sho would be looking to buy his own place. In fact, it makes a lot more sense than Sho renting an apartment in their building. Jun knows how much his rent costs, so he knows that Sho could surely afford something nicer. There’s no way his salary isn’t substantially higher than Jun’s.  
  
Jun thinks about asking Sho why he chose to move here, but he doesn’t, and they return to eating in silence.  
  
Sho’s sister still hasn’t arrived by the time they finish dinner. They clear the table together and Sho insists on taking care of the washing up. He rolls his sleeves up to his elbows before plunging his hands into the warm, soapy water in the sink, scrubbing the filthy pans clean with a surprising degree of care. Jun is left to wipe down the table and take out the garbage. There are no leftovers to be put away.  
  
Not wanting to stand around uselessly while Sho finishes up, Jun excuses himself to the bathroom. By the time he returns, Sho has moved on from the kitchen and placed himself in front of Jun’s bookcase, idly examining the contents of a large, black hardcover.  
  
“You’re a fan of Tom Ford?”  
  
Sho looks up, mildly startled. “Tom Ford?”  
  
“The book you’re looking at. Did you not notice the name on the cover?”  
  
Sho closes the book, brow furrowing as he looks at the front cover marked with bold, white type. “Ah,” he says. “I guess I wasn’t paying attention.” He sets the book back onto the shelf and looks over at Jun. “Did you ask me if I was a fan?”  
  
“I’ve seen you wearing Tom Ford before.”  
  
“He’s a designer?”  
  
Jun’s frown must look severe because Sho immediately throws up a hand as though to placate him. “Sorry, I really don’t know fashion. I just buy things and wear them.”  
  
Jun stares at him for a moment longer, finding it strange to hear such a thing said. He’s so used to being surrounded by people who are desperate to impress upon him their sense of style and importance through the clothes they wear. Even the strangers he flirts with at bars always seem to want to show off their designer label shirt or expensive jewellery when they learn what it is he does. Really, the only person Jun knows who claims not to care at all about fashion is Nino, and Nino shows his disinterest by wearing the same few t-shirts until they fall apart, like a perverse badge of honour.  
  
Sho, on the other hand, wears nice suits and seems to own a collection of watches that collectively must be worth more than all of Jun’s furniture. Jun hasn’t failed to notice a single one.  
  
Thinking about it now kind of irritates him.  
  
A vibrating sound cuts through the silence, interrupting the moment before Sho can start to look more uncomfortable. The source of the noise is Sho’s phone, which he retrieves from his pocket. “It’s my sister,” he says to Jun before answering the call. Jun nods and moves away, giving Sho space to talk freely.  
  
Though Jun tries not to eavesdrop, he can tell from the tone of Sho’s muffled responses that his sister hasn’t rung to tell him she’s arrived.  
  
“She can’t make it,” Sho says after he hangs up.  
  
Jun looks at him from over his shoulder. “Everything okay?”  
  
“Yes, fine,” Sho replies, but his words can’t hide the hint of frustration in his voice. He sighs and says, “I just have to go over there now and pick up the spare keys myself. I probably should have done that to begin with anyway—it was my fault I got locked out.”  
  
Jun nods.  
  
Now is the moment for them to say their goodbyes for the evening. Instead, Jun finds himself saying, “You can stay here tonight if you want. It’s getting late.”  
  
As soon as the offer leaves his mouth, he realises just how ludicrous it is. He doesn’t need the confirmation given to him by Sho’s bewildered expression, but he gets it anyway.  
  
“I…” Sho blinks, head tilting fractionally. “Thank you,” he says slowly. “But I won’t impose on you any longer. It’s better for me to go get my keys now.”  
  
Jun thinks he does an admirable job of hiding his embarrassment, face set with cool indifference as he nods his response. Sho moves to pick up his jacket, and then heads to the genkan for his shoes.  
  
“Thank you for dinner,” Sho says once he’s ready to leave. “I really enjoyed it. Hopefully I can repay the favour some day.”  
  
Jun’s embarrassment is still too thick for him to trust his voice. He says nothing as Sho offers a final, awkward nod and a smile that feels to Jun like little more than a poor consolation. Hearing the door click into place behind Sho is a relief.  
  
  
—  
  
  
Half an hour later, Sho returns. Jun is surprised by the knock on his front door, and he’s even more surprised to see Sho. He frowns, worried for a second that Sho is still locked out, but a quick glance reveals that Sho is holding a set of keys in his hand.  
  
“I hope I’m not bothering you,” Sho says.  
  
Jun shakes his head absently, not sure if he should invite Sho inside. “Is something wrong?”  
  
“No. Nothing wrong, uh… it just occurred to me that I probably should leave my spare keys with someone in case I get locked out again, and I don’t know when I’ll next see my sister so… I thought it might make sense to give them to you.”  
  
It takes Jun a second to process what Sho is saying. “You want me to have your spare keys?”  
  
“Only if you don’t mind. Feel free to refuse, but I thought it might be better this way—”  
  
“I don’t mind.”  
  
“You’re sure?” Sho says, looking as though he hadn’t expected Jun to agree. He pauses for a second, and when Jun offers no indication of changing his mind, he holds out his keys and says, “Thank you. It’s a great help.”  
  
Jun is slow to take the keys, fingers brushing Sho’s as he hesitates. “You sure you trust me with them?”  
  
“I wouldn’t suggest it otherwise. We’re friends, aren’t we?”  
  
_Friends_. Jun hasn’t actually considered the idea. He hasn’t tried to put any name at all to what Sho is to him beyond being his neighbour.  
  
There’s no time to ruminate on the matter now, not when Sho is waiting for him, keys pressing lightly against his skin.  
  
“Right,” Jun agrees, and he takes the keys from Sho. “What are friends for?”  
  
  
—  
  
  
The first thing Sho says to Jun when he opens his door and finds Sho standing there in the hallway is, “So, I tried to cook.”  
  
Jun had been expecting to see Aiba, not Sho, so he’s a little taken aback. “You tried to cook?”  
  
“I wanted to repay you somehow because you’ve cooked for me twice now, and I had some time today so I thought I could make dinner and see if you wanted any leftovers. But it didn’t go so well.” Sho flashes Jun a charmingly self-deprecating smile and explains, “I don’t think the meat was completely defrosted—I had trouble cooking it all the way through. And then the noodles got stuck to the pan. I’m really not sure why, I swear I added enough oil...”  
  
Jun nods, holding in his amusement at the sight of Sho’s troubled expression. “Probably not hot enough.”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“The pan. If your noodles stuck to it, you probably didn’t have it hot enough before you added the oil.”  
  
“Ah… is that so? I had no idea.”  
  
“Well, now you know for next time.”  
  
“Right,” Sho says, nodding thoughtfully.  
  
He says nothing further. Jun tilts his head and asks, “Is that it?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Did you just stop by to tell me of your cooking fiasco, or—”  
  
“Oh! No. I brought you food—here!” Sho thrusts a plastic bag in his hand out to Jun. It looks and smells as though it contains some sort of take-out; Jun just assumed Sho bought it for himself.  
  
“I ran into Aiba when I was taking the garbage out and I told him about my problem. He said you guys had plans to hang out and he was supposed to be in charge of food. Then he suggested maybe I could get something instead.”  
  
Jun stares at the bag, slightly bewildered by the unexpected turn of events. “Why don’t you come inside?” he says eventually, looking back up at Sho.  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
Jun takes the bag and steps back, giving Sho plenty of space to enter. “The more the merrier, right?”  
  
Sho hesitates for a second, looking at Jun, before stepping past the threshold. Jun doesn’t wait for him as he removes his shoes. He heads for the kitchen so he can unpack the containers of food from the plastic bag. A quick check confirms there’s more than enough there to feed three.  
  
“Aiba’s not here yet,” he tells Sho.  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“He should be soon.” Jun glances up and finds Sho hovering at the entrance to his kitchen. “Why did you get the food already? You could have waited until you were here and ordered delivery.”  
  
“Ah… I didn’t want to interrupt your night. I thought I could just give you the food and go.”  
  
“Back to your apartment and your dodgy dinner?”  
  
Sho frowns. “It wasn’t that bad,” he mumbles.  
  
His expression is more petulant than anything else, and the jut of his full lower lip proves to be quite the distraction. Jun catches himself staring and he clears his throat.  
  
“Well, you’re here now. And you’re not interrupting anything. We’re just watching a movie and having dinner.”  
  
“Dinner and a movie? Sounds like a date,” Sho says, meeting Jun’s eyes.  
  
Jun’s not going to read anything into the query.  
  
“It isn’t,” he says.  
  
They continue staring at each other, neither saying anything.  
  
A loud knock breaks the silence. Jun looks away from Sho and says, “That must be Aiba now,” his feet moving toward the door on instinct.  
  
He has to walk past Sho to get there. He has to feel Sho watching him and smell Sho’s scent, and he hates how much he’s aware of Sho, skin prickling with the tension yet to dissipate.  
  
Aiba’s cheerful smile and noisy greeting is a welcome distraction.  
  
  
—  
  
  
Hanging out with Aiba and Sho is more fun than Jun anticipates. He’s grateful for Aiba’s presence; Aiba seems to have a knack for making everyone feel comfortable, dispelling any potential awkwardness with his easy chatter. With Aiba there, the three of them are able to talk and joke and laugh as though they’re all old friends.  
  
Sho is as enthusiastic when he eats as he was the last time Jun shared dinner with him, but his exhaustion shows when they sit down to watch a movie. Jun can’t help sneaking glances across at him, noting his glassy eyes and muted reactions. As soon as the movie is over, Sho takes his leave. He has to work early the next morning.  
  
Aiba stays for another drink that turns into two. Jun’s in no rush to kick him out.  
  
“You should have told me,” Aiba says with lips stained purple from the wine.  
  
Jun takes another sip from his glass. “Hm?”  
  
“You should have told me that you… you know.” Aiba gestures vaguely with his hand. “You like men.”  
  
Jun freezes. He sets his wine glass down carefully on the table, heart pounding in his ears. His jaw feels tight.  
  
“I don’t… I don’t know what you—”  
  
“Wait, let me rephrase.” Aiba sits up straighter, eyebrows knitting together. Jun’s not sure where to look, or what to do with his hands. The air feels thick and there’s a buzzing in his head, making him unsteady.  
  
“If you like men,” Aiba says, “and I’m not saying you do, or that I think you do, or…. anyway, the point is: if you do, you can tell me. If you want. I won’t judge or anything, I promise. And I can stop offering to set you up with women and send some cute guys your way instead! Though I guess you probably wouldn’t want that either seeing as you already have someone you’re interested in… right?”  
  
Part of Jun is screaming with the instinctive need to interrupt Aiba’s rambling and deny everything he’s saying, but another part is relieved by the notion of finally being honest with him. Mostly he feels embarrassed thinking of how he must have acted throughout the night to have given himself away.  
  
“Do you think Sho knows?” Jun asks, the question slipping out before he can help it.  
  
“That you like men or that you like him?” Aiba’s tone is gentle, as though he feels the need to tread cautiously. He shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t think so… I mean, if he knew how you felt, wouldn’t he have made a move on you by now?”  
  
Jun can feel his face flush. “Not likely.”  
  
“Why not? I mean, I don’t know him as well as I know you, but he _looks_ at you, Jun. Like… he really looks at you. A lot.”  
  
“I think you were seeing things you wanted to see,” Jun mumbles, grabbing his wine glass as he rises from his seat. The kitchen seems a safer place to be right now.  
  
“You should trust me on this,” Aiba singsongs after him. “Hey, do you want me to talk to Sho?”  
  
Jun turns sharply to glare at him. “No.”  
  
“Are you sure?” Aiba shrugs. “Well, if you change your mind…”  
  
“I won’t.” Jun holds his glare for a second before he recognises Aiba’s earnestness in wanting to help and he softens. “Thank you,” he adds.  
  
Aiba smiles brightly. “No need to thank me! I think you guys would be good together. Two, lonely workaholics living next door to one another—it’s a perfect match! And Sho seems even nerdier than you. I bet he wouldn’t even mind your weird obsessions.”  
  
Jun rolls his eyes and turns away. He refuses to entertain any more of Aiba’s pointed comments about Sho for the rest of the night.  
  
  
—  
  
  
Winter turns to spring, and Jun finds himself becoming busier again. He still sees Sho most mornings before work, and Aiba on Sundays when he stops by deliver food or invite Jun out to drinks. Sometimes Sho joins them. Sometimes Aiba makes plans with Jun and bails last-minute, leaving him alone with Sho.

  
Despite Aiba’s best efforts, not much changes between them. They’re just friendly neighbours who occasionally spend time together when the opportunity arises. Jun doesn’t have time to consider anything more. His work life keeps bleeding into his social life, and dating requires more commitment than he can handle—if he even thinks that’s what he wants.  
  
Every so often, Jun catches himself staring at Sho for a little too long, wondering what it would be like to kiss him.  
  
Those moments always pass.  
  
He arrives home late one night, exhausted from a tiring day and a tiring week, and heads straight for his balcony. Underneath his exhaustion is a layer of adrenaline yet to completely fade. He needs to spark his senses and settle his nerves. He slumps down on a chair and places a cigarette between his lips, fingers clumsy as he flicks his lighter.  
  
A familiar laugh breaks through the quiet after his second drag. He tenses, cigarette almost slipping from his fingers in his surprise. He knows the laugh belongs to Sho, which means Sho must be outside on his balcony as well. He’s only a few metres away.  
  
Another laugh follows Sho’s, one Jun doesn’t recognise. Sho’s not alone. Jun slowly lowers his cigarette to his ashtray, wondering if Sho and his friend can smell the smoke. He wonders if they’ve been outside the entire time; if they heard him open his balcony door and know he’s there.  
  
He sits still and listens to the sounds of their murmured voices chatting and laughing. He can’t catch enough words to make any sense of their conversation.  
  
He wishes he could.  
  
By the time he realises what he’s doing, his cigarette is nothing more than a cylinder of grey ash. Annoyed, Jun stubs it out and rises from his chair, careful not to let it scrape against the floor. Spending a Friday night trying to eavesdrop on his neighbour is not something he needs to be caught doing.  
  
Jun knows he’s in trouble.  
  
He needs Shun.  
  
  
—  
  
  
“One more,” Jun says, reaching out to tug at Shun’s sleeve. He tries to go for his glass at the same time, but it’s empty, and he has to set it back down on the table. “I’m out.”  
  
“You said ‘ _one more_ ’ the last time.”  
  
“Yeah. That was ‘one more’ then and this is ‘one more’ now.” He laughs and elbows Shun—possibly a little too hard, he can’t really tell. “Don’t be such a joykill.”  
  
Shun shakes his head. “You’ve definitely had too much.”  
  
“No such thing.”  
  
“Maybe not, but it doesn’t mean I have to hang around with your drunk ass all night. Remember my family, Jun? The same family you like so much? Do you think they’ll appreciate it if they know you’re responsible for keeping Papa out all night?”  
  
Jun frowns and looks down at the table. He doesn’t want Shun to leave. If Shun leaves, then the night is over, and Jun has to go home. He doesn’t want to go home.  
  
“Know what I think?” Shun says. “Drinking is not what you need right now. What you need is to get laid. Why don’t you go find yourself some good-looking dude and do whatever the fuck you want with him? Then I can go home to my nice, warm bed and beautiful wife and sleep.”  
  
Jun pouts. “I don’t want to.”  
  
“Sure you do. Come on, it’ll be easy. There are plenty of guys here who have been checking you out all night.”  
  
“No one good.”  
  
“You haven’t even looked.”  
  
Jun feels himself almost losing his balance as Shun tugs at his arm, forcing him to turn around on his stool. Jun shrugs him off with a scowl. He opens his mouth, ready to tell Shun to stop, when his eyes catch on a man across the room and he hesitates.  
  
There’s nothing particularly special about the man. He’s not that attractive; his face is plain, and his shirt clashes horribly with his pants. Jun wouldn’t normally give him a second glance, but something about the shape of his nose reminds Jun of Sho, even though they don’t look alike, not really.  
  
“See?” Shun says. “I knew you’d find someone.”  
  
“I’m not interested.”  
  
“Why not? Feeling rusty? I know it’s been a long time for you, but I didn’t expect your skills to have deteriorated so much.”  
  
“My skills are fine.”  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
Jun narrows his eyes. Somewhere deep down he knows he’s being manipulated.  
  
He’s never been able to back down from a challenge from Shun.  
  
“I’ll show you,” he says as he hauls himself up from his stool.  
  
Shun smiles. “Good luck.”  
  
Jun knows he doesn’t need luck.  
  
  
—  
  
  
A good twelve hours later, Jun wakes up to find himself completely naked and in possession of a splitting headache.  
  
Neither things are unusual after spending a night out with Shun. He’s in a bed, at least, and when he cracks one eye open, he recognises the walls of his apartment.  
  
He’s relieved. It means he can go back to sleep.  
  
Thirst wakes him eventually, and he drags himself out of bed, not bothering to dress before he stumbles to the kitchen for a glass of water. He drinks the first few mouthfuls greedily, downing the cup in a single go. Rummaging through his cupboards reveals a packet of painkillers. He takes two and refills his glass, sipping it slowly this time.  
  
As his head starts to clear, Jun becomes aware of how disgusting he feels. He’s in dire need of a hot shower.  
  
Once he’s clean and refreshed, skin warm and softly scented, teeth pristine and breath minty, he heads out to his balcony with a cup of coffee, the remainder of his cigarettes, and his phone. Being outside in plain view wearing only a silk robe is possibly not the best choice, but the sun is warm and he’s still feeling flushed from his shower. If anyone happens to look up and see him, it’s their problem if they want to judge his choice of attire.  
  
Jun takes slow drags of his cigarette while he looks at his phone. He ignores his LINE notifications and checks his emails, replying to any that seem important. He reads a message from Shun asking him if he had a good time with his “new friend”.  
  
 _Interesting_. It seems Jun hadn’t simply imagined leaving the bar with someone last night. He supposes that means he can also trust his hazy memory of being pinned against a wall as an unfamiliar hand tugged at his cock.  
  
He doesn’t remember where the handjob occurred, and he doesn’t care. If he brought a stranger home last night, they obviously hadn’t stuck around.  
  
He’s on his third cigarette and thinking about lunch when he hears a door slide open. He stills his hand and listens carefully to the footsteps that follow.  
  
They’re definitely coming from his right.  
  
The muffled footsteps continue for a few paces and then stop. Jun waits patiently for any further noises, but none come. Slowly, he rises from his chair, taking pains not to make his presence known as he moves up to the edge of his balcony.  
  
He looks across and Sho is there, arms resting over the railing of his own balcony. He’s staring down at the footpath below, and Jun gets a second to examine him freely before Sho turns his head.  
  
Their eyes meet. Sho nods at him.  
  
Jun doesn’t return the gesture.  
  
Without a word, Sho tilts his head back in the direction of his apartment, and it must be meant as a message for Jun because he steps away from the railing and disappears out of Jun’s sight.  
  
Jun’s cigarette is only halfway finished. He stubs it out in his ashtray without bothering to take a final drag and heads back inside.  
  
He’s not surprised when he’s met by a knock on his front door.  
  
“Hi,” Sho says when Jun opens the door. “How are you holding up?”  
  
Jun had been prepared to invite Sho in, but the question keeps him in place. “Fine,” he says, uncertain as to whether Sho is asking as a simple pleasantry or because of something more.  
  
He gets his answer immediately.  
  
“You seemed pretty far gone last night,” Sho says, and his gaze is careful, as though he’s wary of offending Jun, but it also holds steady. He doesn’t even blink.  
  
Jun tightens his grip on the doorknob. “You saw me last night?”  
  
“Don’t you remember?”  
  
“No,” Jun says, but even as the reply leaves his lips, he knows it’s a lie. Looking at Sho standing before him, he gets a sudden flash of an image to his mind: of Sho’s face similarly close as it is now, his eyebrows knitted together in concern and his mouth forming words Jun can’t quite recall.  
  
His skin tingles when he remembers Sho’s hand clasped around his arm.  
  
He swallows and schools his features into the blankest mask he can muster. “I hope I didn’t cause you any trouble?” he says, matching Sho’s even tone.  
  
Sho’s mouth opens and gets caught in a flicker of hesitation. Jun stops breathing until Sho exhales and says, “No, no trouble. You buzzed me because you couldn’t find your keys and I let you in, that’s all. I just returned the favour you once did for me.”  
  
That word, _favour_ , echoes in Jun’s mind and triggers a memory he didn’t know he had. He sees the entrance to his apartment building, blurred and unsteady, and remembers his hands fumbling uselessly at pockets that didn’t seem to be in the right place. He hears a distant voice he knows must be his own say, “I don’t need a key. He owes me a favour.”  
  
What happened from there he still can’t recall, but he can guess at least some of it. He looks at Sho and wonders how much else he’s forgotten about last night.  
  
Jun decides that if he has forgotten anything significant, he doesn’t want to have to hear Sho tell him of it.  
  
“I’m sorry for disturbing you so late,” he says, coolly apologetic. “Thank you for your concern.”  
  
It’s a clear dismissal: polite, and conveyed with an adequate amount of gratitude, but a dismissal nonetheless.  
  
Sho nods slightly, and if there’s any hint of disappointment on his face, Jun pretends not to see it.  
  
“No need to apologise. I’m happy to have helped.” He offers a faint smile, and it’s nothing compared to ones Jun’s grown used to seeing, full of genuine warmth and amusement. “I hope you get some rest.”  
  
There’s nothing left to be said. Jun nods and Sho turns away.  
  
  
—  
  
  
After Sho leaves, Jun sits on his sofa and tries to go over everything he can remembers from the previous night. His memories are all hazy and muddled, but enough details keep surfacing for him to be able to piece together some semblance of truth if he tries, he’s sure. He just needs to think.  
  
He remembers the bar fairly well. He remembers drinking and talking to Shun and the man with the cute nose. He doesn’t remember leaving the bar, but he remembers being outside of his apartment building. He wasn’t alone. He remembers a hand on his cock and Sho’s piercing gaze and—no, he’s mixing things up. The two events were separate; Sho couldn’t have been looking at him while he received a handjob from a nameless stranger.  
  
Try as he might, Jun can’t seem to keep them apart in his mind, stuck together in some horrible, wishful fantasy. He groans and slumps onto his back, head landing on the sofa cushion with a soft thud.  
  
The chain of events that occurred between him standing out the front of the building and making it inside of his apartment are what he needs to figure out. He knows he buzzed Sho, and he knows Sho let him inside. Jun knows he must have gone upstairs with the nameless stranger. But he also must have seen Sho in person when he did; he’s sure the image he has of Sho standing before him, hand on his arm, is not merely a figment of his imagination.  
  
 _“Are you okay?”_  
  
The words come to him suddenly, spoken in Sho’s voice. They play on repeat in his mind, just that single question and nothing more.  
  
 _“Are you okay?”_  
  
He can see Sho’s mouth moving, hear the question asked, but trying to let the scene play out only yields infuriating fuzziness. The alcohol did its job. Whatever really happened is lost to Jun now.  
  
 _“Are you okay?”_  
  
Sho asked Jun if he was okay while looking at him with eyes full of concern and Jun… Jun left Sho for the company and quick satisfaction of a man whose name he can’t even be bothered to remember.  
  
His stomach curls with a regret he’s not sure he deserves to feel.  
  
  
—  
  
  
Jun knows he owes Sho an apology for his brusque behaviour. He’s already having visions of awkward incidental encounters and no more attempts from either of them to spend time together as friends. Jun doesn’t want that. He doesn’t know what he wants, but he’s proven to himself that he’s far past the point of being able to think of Sho as his neighbour and nothing more.  
  
It takes him a few days before he can. He skips his morning gym sessions, not wanting to risk running into Sho before he feels confident he can convey what needs to be said. He thinks about going over to Sho’s apartment during the evening and knocking on his door, but flimsy excuses always stop him. Sho might not be home yet. Jun has work he needs to finish. He needs to cook dinner. It’s too late to be disturbing someone.  
  
Fate apparently has no patience for his procrastination. Jun stops by his mailbox after work on Wednesday, and right when he turns his key in the lock, Sho appears.  
  
“Hi,” Sho says, the surprise on his face mirroring Jun’s own. “Strange coincidence, huh?”  
  
Jun blinks and looks at Sho and says nothing.  
  
His silence makes Sho’s expression turn uneasy. “I, uh… just wanted to check my mail.”  
  
Sho gestures his keys vaguely in the direction of the mailboxes. It takes Jun a few seconds to understand—Sho is his neighbour, so Sho’s mailbox is next to his. Jun is in the way.  
  
He grabs his mail and steps aside. Sho slowly moves to fill the space.  
  
“I haven’t seen you the past few mornings,” Sho says, looking at his mailbox instead of Jun. “Are you still going to the gym?”  
  
“When I can.”  
  
“Right.”  
  
Sho’s mailbox clicks shut and Jun is still standing there.   
  
“Heading up?” Sho says, and Jun has no good reason to say otherwise.  
  
He keeps his silence during the ride up the elevator, but stops Sho with a hand to his arm before he can say a farewell and head down the corridor to disappear into his apartment.  
  
“Hey,” Jun says. “Are you free for dinner any night soon? I want to cook for you.”  
  
Sho glances at him, brows twitching a crease above his nose. “You’ve cooked for me before.”  
  
Jun keeps his gaze firm.  
  
“I want to cook for you,” he says again with a subtle shift to the emphasis behind his words.  
  
He watches Sho’s hesitation flicker behind his eyes, mouth opening and closing again before he nods.  
  
“Saturday,” Sho says. “I’m free then.”  
  
“Saturday it is.”  
  
  
—  
  
  
There’s a grocery store Jun likes, twenty minutes away from his apartment by train. It’s not convenient enough for regular visits—and a little too pricy besides—but he always relishes an opportunity to shop there.  
  
Early in the morning, it’s quiet. Produce is laid out in even rows, appealing blocks of bright colours left mostly undisturbed. There are few obstacles to navigate as he slowly makes his way around the store. A worker unpacks trays to fill the remaining gaps on the shelves and some other customers are dotted around with baskets in hand, but overall, it’s peaceful.  
  
Jun can take his time.  
  
He has a list of what he wants to buy, carefully organised into categories so he won’t forget anything, but he still pauses in front of every shelf. There are always interesting products to be found between the usual suspects; items that aren’t stocked at other stores.  
  
His inability to resist the urge to pick up whatever catches his eye is another reason for him not to shop at this particular store. He ends up leaving with heavy bags and a receipt bearing a number that is alarmingly high.  
  
It’s worth it.  
  
Finding space in his tiny kitchen to store everything takes longer than he would prefer. Impatience pricks at his fingertips and he’s tempted to leave some groceries on countertops, abandoning the task halfway. He forces himself to finish. Mise en place is key to later success.  
  
Clams are covered with salty water in a container and placed in the fridge. Risotto comes next; it needs time to cool before he can press the sticky mixture into identical spheres. Onion and garlic cloves are finely chopped with his sharpest knife, porcini mushrooms are soaked in boiling water, a heavy pot is placed on the stovetop, ready to be used.  
  
Jun is a practised cook, but he’s slow—precise, he prefers to think—and risotto requires attention. By the time he’s finished ladling stock from one pot to the other, the rich smells wafting through the kitchen cause his stomach to growl with hunger.  
  
He takes a break for lunch.  
  
Sunlight warms the side of his face where he sits on his balcony with a bowl of leftovers and a glass of the wine he bought for cooking. The weather is unseasonably nice today—too nice to be staying inside. At least Jun knows he’s not the only one who hasn’t been taking advantage of the sunshine. Weekends don’t seem to exist in Sho’s life.  
  
Jun’s chair happens to face the divider that separates his balcony from Sho’s. He stares idly at the wall as he eats, tracing the cracks in the plaster, and wonders when Sho will return home.  
  
Late in the afternoon, when Jun is washing dishes in the sink, there’s a knock on his front door. He grabs a tea towel to dry off the soapy water on his hands, skin feeling raw from the heat. His skin is still a little damp when he reaches for the doorknob. The metal is smooth against his puckered fingertips.  
  
Sho is standing there when he opens the door.  
  
“Hi,” Sho says.  
  
He’s not wearing his suit jacket today. Or his tie—the top two buttons of his shirt have been left undone, exposing the hollow of his throat. Jun’s eyes catch on the dip for a brief second.  
  
“I just got back from the office. Thought I stop by and let you know.”  
  
Jun nods.  
  
“What time do you want me over for dinner? Still the same, or can I help with anything? I can head out to the shops if you want me to pick anything up.”  
  
“It’s fine. I’ve got everything sorted.” Jun shifts so the door stays propped open against his hip and glances at the watch on his left hand. “It’s still early. You can come over whenever, but feel free to take your time.”  
  
Awkwardness coats the underside of Jun’s tongue as he speaks, thick enough that he think he could swallow the feeling if only he could remember how to work his throat.  
  
Sho smiles, and it’s awkward too. “I’ll just shower and change.”  
  
Closing the door in Sho’s face seems rude, so Jun stays where he is as Sho moves away from the doorway, out of sight. The sound of keys jangling and a lock being turned is his cue to take a step back. He grips the doorknob in an effort to soften the noise of the door as he shuts it.  
  
Idle time spent waiting isn’t something Jun enjoys. By the time Sho knocks on his door again, he’s rearranged his furniture twice and changed his clothes three times. In his defence, finding an outfit that strikes the right balance between casual and attention-grabbing isn’t the easiest task. He doesn’t want to appear as though he’s trying too hard.  
  
What he does want is for Sho to look at him with more than a polite, respectful gaze. He feels more than a little pleased when he opens the door and Sho’s smile falters as his eyes drift down, sweeping between collarbones exposed by Jun’s low-cut shirt and thighs clad in his tightest pair of jeans.  
  
“You changed,” Sho says.  
  
Jun’s fingers tighten around the doorknob. “I got some food on what I was wearing earlier. Forgot to wear an apron.”  
  
He steps back and ushers Sho inside before he can catch the lie.  
  
“Can I get you something to drink?”  
  
“What’s on offer?”  
  
“Beer. Wine. Some harder liquor, too, if that’s what you feel like.” Jun pauses as he holds the fridge door open. “And water,” he adds.  
  
“Beer would be good. Thanks.”  
  
Jun grabs one of the cold bottles out of the fridge and opens it before passing it over to Sho. There’s a moment when Sho hesitates, fingers wrapping around the bottle in a too-light hold, and Jun panics. One minute in and he’s already managed to commit some kind of faux pas.  
  
“Something the matter?”  
  
“No.” Sho blinks and takes the beer from Jun, his grip more secure. “No, I, uh… this is my favourite, that’s all. I was surprised. Not many people seem to buy it.”  
  
Jun doesn’t tell him how he remembers Sho mentioning his beer preferences once before. He looks away.  
  
“Are you hungry? I know it’s still a little early for dinner, but—”  
  
Sho laughs. “Starving, actually. I might have skipped lunch in anticipation of tonight.”  
  
Jun glances back at him.  
  
“I already know how good your cooking is,” Sho says with a smile. “I didn’t want to ruin my appetite.”  
  
“Are you sure that was a good idea?” Jun quips before he can stop himself. “I’ve seen how much you can put away.”  
  
If Sho’s offended, he doesn’t show it. He keeps the smile on his face, and once again, Jun has to break eye contact first.  
  
“Give me ten minutes and I’ll have something for you. Unless you don’t think you can wait that long? I probably have some cheese in the fridge.”  
  
“I can wait.”  
  
Jun nods. “Okay.”  
  
The oil in the deep fryer is already hot—Jun turned it on while waiting for Sho—and the arancini have all been prepared. Jun takes them from the fridge and carefully drops some into the fryer.  
  
“Do you want to sit down?” he asks when he turns around. Sho is standing on the other of the counter, pressed against the edge with his beer in his hand.  
  
“I like being able to watch you,” Sho replies with a smile that makes Jun’s cheeks warm. “What are you making? Croquettes?”  
  
“Arancini. Have you eaten arancini before?”  
  
“Hmm… maybe at a wedding once? They’re those fried balls of rice, right? I remember them being tasty.”  
  
“Well, I can promise you that mine will be better than any you’ve had before.”  
  
Sho grins. “Confident, aren’t you?”  
  
“I know what I’m good at.”  
  
Jun doesn’t think he has to worry about not living up to expectations. When he sets a bowl full of golden, crispy arancini in front Sho, there’s no missing the way his eyes light up with happy anticipation.  
  
“They look so good,” Sho says. “Smell good, too.”  
  
“Go ahead.”  
  
Sho doesn’t need more prompting. Jun watches as he takes one and places it halfway between his lips, teeth sinking into the crust. His eyes screw shut in a way Jun’s come to know means he’s truly savouring what he’s tasting, showing his satisfaction with a muffled groan before he tries to work the bite he’s taken further into his mouth.  
  
As he does, his moment of bliss comes to a sudden stop. He opens his eyes wide and frowns when his attempt to separate the ball into two halves with his teeth is hindered by a thick string of mozzarella that stretches comically from his lips.  
  
Jun stifles a laugh.  
  
It takes Sho a few seconds to solve his dilemma, finally managing to break the cheese so he can finish chewing his mouthful. By the time he swallows, Jun has given up trying to hide his grin.  
  
“You knew that would happen,” Sho accuses, pouting at Jun.  
  
Jun doesn’t deny it. “Sorry,” he says without any real sincerity.  
  
Almost immediately, Sho’s pout fades. He shrugs and pops the remaining sticky rice into his mouth. “Worth it,” he declares, sucking grease off the tip of his thumb.  
  
Jun’s shoulders feel less stiff as he sets about preparing the rest of the meal. Sho’s a noisy observer, content to stand and chatter to an extent that’s almost annoying, but Jun doesn’t mind. The more Sho talks, the less Jun thinks, his tongue becoming looser with the help of his wine. He finds he doesn’t have worry about what he says; even his most acerbic retorts are only met with happy acceptance. Sho’s laughter comes easily, loud and full.  
  
The cooked arancini disappear while Jun is distracted. He starts to scold Sho when he notices, but there’s a crumb stuck to the corner of Sho’s mouth and a wet smudge of beer on the bottom of his lip, and by the time Jun registers Sho’s pleas of innocence, he’s already a beat behind.  
  
Sho seems to take his sudden silence to mean he’s upset. “Sorry,” he says, looking chastised. “They were just too delicious. I couldn’t help myself.”  
  
Jun shakes his head. “No, I’m glad you enjoyed them. I just hope you haven’t ruined your appetite.”  
  
“Never.”  
  
Jun smiles softly to himself and turns back to the stove.  
  
  
—  
  
  
“You know, if you keep offering to feed me like this, I’m never going to want to move.”  
  
Sho’s comment is meant as nothing more than an offhand joke, but it’s a reminder Jun could have done without. He reaches for the bowl of toasted pumpkin focaccia and passes it across the table. “Do you know yet when you will?”  
  
“Move? Not really. I always planned to just live here until I found somewhere to buy.”  
  
“But that hasn’t happened yet?”  
  
“No. It’s been… hard to settle on somewhere.” Sho’s expression turns serious for a moment, looking at Jun as though he’s considering something. “I’ll be sad to leave here.”  
  
“Because you’ll miss my cooking?” Jun teases.  
  
Sho smiles. “That too.”  
  
There’s enough ambiguity in Sho’s comment for Jun’s breath to catch for a second, thinking of what exactly Sho might miss the most. The way Sho keeps looking at him doesn’t help; it’s as though he wants Jun to react, but Jun doesn’t know how he should. Feeling awkward, he clears his throat and returns to his meal. The remaining strands of linguine on his plate suddenly seem very interesting.  
  
A loud crunch echoes through the silence. Jun looks up, and his eyes immediately fixate on a small, green speck decorating the arch of Sho’s cupid bow—a piece of parsley that somehow went astray. Sho seems oblivious, happily chewing without pause even as Jun’s stare lingers too long.  
  
Sho swallows and tilts his head slightly. “Something wrong?” he asks.  
  
“You have a little…” Jun gestures his hand vaguely toward his mouth.  
  
Sho jerks his hand up to his face and slows, fingers hovering over his lips. “Here?” he asks, touching one fingertip to the corner of his mouth.  
  
Jun shakes his head. “Up,” he says, and touches the spot on his own face.  
  
Slowly, Sho moves his finger up, tracing the curve of his soft, full lips until it reaches the speck of green and Jun nods. “There,” Jun says.  
  
He expects Sho to rub at the spot, to wipe his mouth quickly and thoroughly, and that would be bad enough but Sho doesn’t do that. He only touches his finger to skin for a second before bringing it back down to his mouth, and Jun can only watch, horrifyingly transfixed, as Sho pushes the tip of his finger between his lips and wets it with his tongue.  
  
Almost too late, Jun manages to look away. He’s been putting up with having to watch Sho eat all night, and he’s reached his limit. He’s seen Sho hollow his cheeks as he sucks strands of linguine into his mouth and tip his head back, baring his throat, when he wants to savour a particularly delicious mouthful. He’s seen Sho lick his lips, seemingly unaware of Jun’s attention every time he does. And he’s heard Sho, too, so even when he doesn’t look, he has to listen to Sho’s small sighs and moans of appreciation.  
  
Eating shouldn’t be as obscene as Sho makes it.  
  
After a few seconds, he thinks it’s safe to glance back at Sho, but Sho’s finger is still at his mouth, dabbing slowly at the edges of his lips. Their eyes meet, and Sho doesn’t stop his movements. He stares at Jun, with his finger touching his bottom lip, and in an instant, Jun realises something important.  
  
Sho’s teasing is not accidental. He’s trying to catch Jun’s attention.  
  
For what purpose, Jun can only guess, and he’s sick of guessing. He needs clarity.  
  
“Do you smoke?” Jun asks abruptly.  
  
Sho’s face twitches into a small frown at the unexpected question, hand finally falling away, but he composes himself and replies, “On occasion. I’ve tried to cut back.”  
  
Jun nods and pushes his chair back. “Join me,” he says, rising to his feet.  
  
He heads outside to his balcony with Sho following him a couple of steps behind. His cigarettes and lighter are where he left them on the table, next to his ashtray. Jun doesn’t move to sit. He plucks a cigarette from its packet and rests it between his lips, taking a second to light it before handing the deck and the lighter over to Sho.  
  
“No thanks,” Sho says.  
  
Jun removes his lit cigarette from his mouth. “I thought you said you smoked?”  
  
“I really am trying to stop.”  
  
“Huh.” Jun stares at Sho and takes a drag from his cigarette, inhaling deep. “The smell doesn’t bother you?” he says around a mouthful of smoke.  
  
“No. I still like it, I just try to avoid smoking when I can.”  
  
Jun nods. “And the taste?”  
  
The question hangs in the air for a long moment. Sho is slow to respond, seemingly more intent on staring at Jun than coming up with an answer to his question. Jun takes another drag while he waits.  
  
He doesn’t fail to notice how Sho’s gaze drops to his mouth as he does.  
  
“The taste… I still like the taste,” Sho says.  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
Jun moves to stub his cigarette out in his ashtray, not waiting for an answer from Sho this time. He turns back and takes a step forward. Sho doesn’t step back. He doesn’t step back when Jun reaches him, unable to walk any further forward. He doesn’t step back when Jun raises a hand to rest lightly against his neck, thumb grazing the sharp line of his jaw.  
  
Now Jun waits for answer from Sho.  
  
He receives it after Sho’s already leaned too close to turn back, a breathy “ _Yes_ ” exhaled into his mouth right before their lips meet. Jun closes his eyes and softens into the kiss.  
  
The taste of beer and garlic seeps through the lingering smoke in Jun’s mouth, and maybe it’s not the best thing to remember their first kiss by, but Jun thinks he’ll soon forget. What he’s pretty sure he’ll remember is how soft Sho’s lips are—just as he always imagined, except better, because he’d never imagined how warm they would feel or how nicely they would fit against his own. He definitely never imagined the tingling sparks he can feel in his fingertips, making him hum with an excitement he hasn’t felt in a long time.  
  
He’s been letting himself miss out on something special for too long. Now he knows, he’s not going to make the same mistake again.  
  
“I’ve been wanting you to do that all night,” Sho says after they break apart. “I was panicking thinking of how I was going to try get your attention during dessert.”  
  
“I didn’t make dessert.”  
  
“Oh.” Sho’s expression stills for a second before brightening. “Does that make this dessert, then?”  
  
Jun rolls his eyes. “You’re ridiculous,” he says, but he leans in to kiss Sho again anyway, a short, soft kiss that makes him shiver with how much it leaves him wanting.  
  
Sho must feel the same way because he’s reluctant to part, chasing Jun’s movements with demands for more. Jun allows him one last kiss before denying him a fourth. He likes how disappointment looks on Sho’s face.  
  
“What were you going to do if I never did anything?” he asks, curiosity overtaking his desire to just enjoy the moment. “Continue hoping until you moved out and we stopped seeing each other?”  
  
“Possibly,” Sho admits.  
  
“That’s comforting to know.”  
  
“You’re kind of intimidating, you realise?”  
  
Jun frowns. He starts to drop his hand away from where it’s been lingering against Sho’s neck, but Sho stops him before he can.  
  
“That wasn’t supposed to be an insult,” Sho says, fingers warm against Jun’s skin. “I’m just... a little out of practise with stuff like this and I was nervous… I didn’t want to make things awkward between us.” Sho smiles and tightens his grip on Jun’s hand. “Forgive me?”  
  
With Sho so close to him, smiling at him in that way that makes him feel weak, Jun doesn’t see how he can do anything else. “Only if you promise me something.”  
  
“Anything,” Sho says.  
  
Jun’s breath catches.  
  
 _Anything._  
  
For a brief moment, he lets himself savour the sound of that word spilling so easily from Sho’s lips. It almost distracts him from remembering what he wants to ask. “Anything” is a lot to offer, and Jun’s always liked to take. He wonders if Sho has any idea of how dangerous it is for him to promise so much.  
  
Jun can find out later.  
  
For now, he’s content to just say, “Promise me you’ll come over for dinner again next week. I know you’re busy, but—”  
  
He doesn’t get to offer his well-thought-out reasoning, because Sho interrupts him and says, “Can I do you one better?”  
  
Jun almost frowns, but Sho persists.  
  
“I want to take you out. On a proper date. You’ve been spoiling me all this time with your cooking, and I think it’s my turn to spoil you.”  
  
Sho smiles as he slides a hand up to Jun’s shoulder, and Jun doesn’t want to show just how happy he is about the idea of going out on a real date with Sho. It’s dangerous how he easily can feel himself letting his guard slip around this man he only kissed for the first time a couple of minutes ago, and whose place in Jun’s life is still so uncertain. He’s supposed to be able to act cooler than this.  
  
He tries as he arches a single eyebrow and says, “Are you saying that eating out is better than eating my cooking?”  
  
“I’m pretty sure nothing will top your cooking for me,” Sho replies, and Jun can feel his cheeks warming at the praise. His face must give him away, because Sho’s smile widens and he says, “I hope to eat plenty more of it. You might find it hard to get rid of me.”  
  
“Until you move somewhere else?”  
  
“Until then, whenever that is, and afterwards, too, if you’re not sick of me. You can help me find a place with a kitchen that meets your standards.”  
  
Jun knows he shouldn’t let himself jump too far ahead imagining a future that involves Sho, not this soon, but he likes the idea of it too much.  
  
He likes Sho too much.  
  
“My standards are very high,” he murmurs, shifting closer.  
  
“I expected as much.”  
  
“Did you? Then you should know I expect a lot from you. I hope you don’t disappoint.”  
  
He swears he can see Sho’s eyes darkening when he replies, “I’ll try my best,” before leaning in for another kiss.  
  
There are still plates of unfinished food sitting out on Jun’s dining table, and dirty dishes that need to be cleaned, but Jun decides to forget about them for a while. He kisses Sho, in the same place he was when he first laid eyes upon him, and lets himself enjoy the moment.  
  
This is only the beginning for them. He’s sure of it.  
  
  
—  
  
  
Jun’s gym introduces a promotional offer that brings in a slew of new customers to disrupt his morning routine. His favourite machine is occupied when he arrives one Friday morning, and a confused young woman asks for his help just as he’s about to head for the change rooms. She’s too busy trying to flirt with him to listen to his simple instructions, so the entire process takes longer than he anticipates.  
  
He ends up leaving the gym almost ten minutes later than he originally planned, and he’s pissed. Today is not a day he wanted to be delayed.  
  
His frustration only turns to guilt when he looks up as he’s crossing the street and sees Sho waiting outside their apartment building.  
  
“You’re going to be late,” he says to Sho when he reaches him, instead of, _“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you wait.”_  
  
Not even Sho’s smile can lift his frown. “It’ll be fine,” Sho says. “I’m always early anyway.”  
  
He can say that, but it’s not true. “Early” is a relative concept; it doesn’t exist in Sho’s vocabulary. He’s on time as soon as he arrives.  
  
“Relax,” Sho says, as though he can tell exactly what Jun is thinking and wants to reassure him, and that just makes Jun feel worse. He doesn’t feel much better when Sho adds, “I wanted to make sure we’re still on for tonight.”  
  
“You could have just messaged me.”  
  
“But I like getting to see you.”  
  
Jun can’t say anything in response to that.  
  
“I should be back by eight,” Sho says.  
  
“Seven-thirty,” Jun prompts. “If you’re really insistent on learning to cook from me, then we need more time. I don’t want to be eating too late because you’re so slow.”  
  
Sho laughs. “I’m only slow because you’re such a perfectionist.”  
  
Jun doesn’t voice his other reason for wanting to make certain they’ll have enough time together tonight. He’s put clean sheets on his bed and a spare towel in his bathroom. His preparations might be a little presumptuous, but he knows Sho well enough now to think they aren’t.  
  
“Seven-thirty,” Sho says. “I’m looking forward to it.”  
  
Jun smiles. “Me too.”


End file.
